damalur: (Default)
no, use my SPACE name! ([personal profile] damalur) wrote2015-12-28 07:38 pm
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amnesty: once upon a time, we were wolves (solas/lavellan)

Oh hey another kink meme fill abandoned for Hawke/Varric!



There were wolves howling in the distance—

She woke gasping, found the campfire still lit, and shuddered hard: not from the cold, but from what followed her through the Fade, what followed her still, pursuing her through the waking world. It hunted her, and like most predators, the Inquisitor did not appreciate being hunted.

-

The rabbit was frozen in the tall grass; had she not stalked it through the field, she wouldn't have known it was there at all. Even its long ears were folded back, merely two more tall shadows against the long stalks of the meadow. Her eyesight was keen enough that she could see it quivering, infinitesimal shudders of skin and fur that were the only sign of fear or even of life. Its eye was large and dark and round, a small abyss in the gray fur; the wind blew from south-southwest, but gently, and it carried with it the scent of Felandaris—sharp and dark, resin and smoke and rot.

The Inquisitor nocked her arrow and drew her bowstring. There was magic for this—she could freeze the creature, or roast it alive, but then time would be required to thaw it, or it would be blackened, not even edible for the scavengers that traveled through this lonely part of the world. She could draw its spirit from its flesh, she had that skill, but she had long lost her taste for leeching the soul of prey like this. The arrow was quick and certain in her hands; she had hunted long before her clan had traded her to another as apprentice to a Keeper, and she would hunt long after that Keeper had been faded from the world.

She drew back her bowstring and let the rabbit's eye fill her mind, whole and entire, and then she let fly. The arrow flew true; the rabbit, pierced, jerked and then slumped, pinned to the ground. She felt its spirit pass. Tonight she would have stew, or perhaps simply roasted rabbit; it was a pleasant change from the hard jerky and dried fruits that filled her pack.

Her tent was pitched by a stream. It was large enough only for one person, and a small person at that, but this journey she made alone save for what she carried with her. After she plucked the arrow from the rabbit's eye, she carried her catch downstream from her campsite and sat down on a rock by the bank to dress it. It drained quickly, and she took the hide off with a practiced jerk of her wrist and then split the belly to pull out the organs. The offal she tossed away, towards the base of a tree, and then she rinsed in the stream the carcass and her knife and the arrow she'd used on the creature.

The stream was very clear, her reflection mirrored in the glassy surface. With the red Vallaslin that had once marked her gone, she no longer recognized herself—nor did the other travelers she met on the road see her for what she was. They thought her an elf of the Alienage, perhaps, or a mage escaped from some Circle; it made her wonder if Solas had truly done her a favor when he had freed her of the markings of a slave, and she always concluded the same: he had done her no favors.

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